


Textophobia

by bibliolatry



Series: A Tale of Phobias [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, John tries his best, Semi-comforting actions, Supportive actions, Textophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliolatry/pseuds/bibliolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Sherlock is so picky about what he wears</p>
            </blockquote>





	Textophobia

Textophobia is the persistent, abnormal, and unwarranted fear of certain fabrics. It’s irrational, Sherlock is aware of this. Just another weird quirk, he tells himself. People fear all sorts of things. This particular phobia is easily hidden. That’s a good thing. 

Mycroft has never had an issue purchasing Sherlock’s designer, tailor-made clothing for him. Sherlock doesn’t have access to his trust fund; hasn’t since that period of his life that everyone so carefully avoids discussing (unless Lestrade decides it’s an appropriate time for a random drug raid). So Mycroft shells out thousands of pounds every six months or so (because Sherlock will only wear each new outfit a certain number of times before it’s been contaminated by contact with other fabrics). It makes Sherlock happy, though he’s loathe to admit that tidbit. 

When John discovers Sherlock’s phobia, he bites his cheek to keep from laughing. He doesn’t want to laugh at Sherlock; it’s a far cry from the strangest thing he’s learned about his friend. No, he wants to laugh at the absurdity of life itself. For a man that runs through the slums of London, has been known to forage peoples garbage and flounce through sewage systems for clues, he certainly holds high standards for his clothing.

Then he does his research. 

“Textophobia is usually caused by an intense negative experience from your past. It is believed that heredity, genetics, and brain chemistry combine with life-experiences to play a major role in the development of phobias.”

He wonders, contemplates asking Sherlock (or even Mycroft), but doesn’t want to pry. They’ve only been flatmates for fourteen months now; he’s considered them friends for nearly all of them, but Sherlock’s mind works different than that of the average human being.

Two months after he learns of Sherlock’s phobia, the subject resurfaces on a case. The woman is young, early twenties; her auburn hair (dyed, obviously) is cut in a short bob and her pale green eyes void of life. Stabbed, thirteen times in her chest and abdomen. Revenge killing, Sherlock says. Home wrecker.

The wife of her lover suffers the same ‘disability’ (John really wants to slap Donovan for the way she sneers the word when she finds out, but hitting a woman is a bit not good). John decides to finally have that talk with Sherlock. He sits him down as soon as they get back to Baker Street.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Ask.”

“Why?” John queries.

“Specifics,” Sherlock raises a brow. 

They both know exactly what John is asking about, but he plays along. “Tell me about your textophobia.”

Sherlock sighs, hunching in on himself. It’s not something he enjoys talking about. In fact, it’s one point from his childhood he wishes he could delete, but can’t seem to figure out how.

“My father wasn’t the most loveable man,” he begins and John leans back in his chair. “If Mycroft or I did something to disappoint him, he found interesting ways to ‘fix our mistakes’, as he referred to them. They would range from simple beatings to complicated knots tied out of rope or even strips of fabric. He’d bind us, make sure we couldn’t move, and leave us in his office or in our room for hours on end. ‘So I know exactly where you are and what you can’t get into’, he’d say. Because of this, there are some fabrics I cannot bear to have against my skin. Cotton is the worst, polyester a close second.”

John stares at Sherlock, his mind racing. How could someone do such a thing to their own children? It’s ludicrous, despicable. John wants to wrap Sherlock in a hug, wrap him in protection and never let anyone hurt him again. Sherlock retires to his bedroom, John stays in the living room staring blankly at the wall. 

A few days later Johns entire wardrobe has been revamped. The clothes aren’t as extravagant as Sherlock’s, but the change in fabric is obvious. Sherlock stares at him a moment before a small smile quirks the corners of his lips. John understands, John is supportive, John is good.


End file.
